A consensus on time travel
Midnight
Itoro Donald Bassey
There is a boy, there is rain, there is wind, there is the storm and it is night. The rain is intense, the wind is short of a tornado, the storm is violent and the moon is full. The boy runs as far as his little legs can carry him but not for fear of the hurricane, that is the least of his worries. He runs from something much more gruesome than that. Running seems like futility but that is all he can do, that is all his adrenaline controlled mind can think. It is minutes before midnight and even though he can barely see where he is going he knows where he is headed, the cave, he doesn’t know how he knows but he does. He has never been this far from the village but he can feel an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He hears the sound again and panics, it’s unlike anything he’s ever heard. It sounds like a thousand metal objects are being scratched in the manner mama grinds pepper on her grinding stones, mixed with the wails of a dying jackal; terribly unpleasant. The path is rocky and the rain has made it wet, he reaches the steep slope which is even harder to navigate, he stumbles, barely keeping himself from falling, he stumbles again but this time gravity isn’t on his side. He falls and tumbles down the hill sustaining multiple bruises along the way, he considers turning to fight, at the exact moment he hears it again, he almost shrieks, but quickly stops himself by placing his hands firmly against his mouth. Humans like every other animal have the innate instinct to survive whatever the odds are and that is what he is, a bloody human, and ‘fight’ is not an option so flight it is. He struggles to make it to his feet as soon as he gets to the base of the hill. The cave is close he can feel it. He can feel the beast closing in on him. He runs faster and faster, at this point all that’s keeping him from giving up is hope, hope that if he gets to the cave he’ll be safe. There isn’t much of a path anymore, he fights through the shrubs. He hears it again, tears and sweat roll down his face, he can taste the saltiness. His body is completely bruised, his legs are sore and heavy. “Kashimawo, one day this your dislike of bata will put you in trouble” mama used to say. This was that day. Although the moon is full and bright he can feel the sadness it beams, almost like it mourns his inevitable demise. The stars are down too, they hang lower than they usually do. Everything stops, he looks around, he has stumbled into somewhere, it is the cave, he is finally safe. A great sense of relief washes over him, he closes his eyes.
He hears it again, the terrible sound, he starts to run. He’s in the forest, he’s never been this far into the forest, he doesn’t even know how he got here. He makes for the cave, he’ll be safe there, he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows. It’s just a few minutes to midnight.
Haiku of Time
Tade Ajiboye
Twenty years previous
Then he had lived five decades
The mistake was made.
An error in full
An error so heartbreaking
After which he cried.
Science revisioned
So became life’s new focus
Swish! Swash! Swoosh! He worked.
Time machine is done
Time’s ebb and flow determined
Tada! He departs.
Moving , time reversed
Mimicking time’s normal speed
Mighty sigh was heaved.
His mind imprisoned
He undid done motions
He watched, so confused.
While his mind observed
Watching life being reversed
Wow! What a long trip.
Summers came and went
Shockingly right after falls
Snow went up, not down.
Christmas before Eve
Children’s laughter upended
Church prayers deformed.
Raindrops rose swiftly
Rising sun set in the East
Robbers returned goods.
For two more decades
Focused on righting his wrong
Fully lived backwards.
Finally emerged
Feeling disoriented
Faithful day arrived.
Time flipped directions
To move forward once again
Today, all things change
Joy was just ahead
Just before wrong was righted
Jerkily, he fell!
Life quietly slipped
Leaving him void of all soul
Lovingly, death came!
For his mind was spent
Freely living past its span
Finally, it rests
New body, old mind
Ninety years, his mind had lived
No life for old minds.
The Gyro Cruiser
Itasoha Akhibi
Adera! Adera!!
Mama screams as she shakes me. I canhear the panic in her voice.
“You’ve been gone for over two hours!” She says as I wake up. “You shouldn’t Gyro Cruise when you’re low on Flourine! I lost Bauba, I’m not losing you too.” I look at her grudgingly as I take in my surroundings. My eyes wander across the room, taking in the messy dark space with some disdain. I settle my gaze on my father trapped in the Gyro Cruise. He had been stuck between time since I was seven. Way before mama taught me about being a Gyro Cruiser. She sometimes tells me tales about what a wonderful man he was before he became a bedridden menace. I didn’t really care about who he is or used to be. Especially since mama seems to be the only one that holds him in high esteem. The rest of the village thinks he’s a raging drunk who went back into the Gyro Cruise to spend time with his mistress. I just want mama to stop treating him like he was still a part of our lives because he wasn’t.
I watch as my mother idly busies herself before walking out the room, her footsteps echoing as she hurries off to God knows where. I get up and go to stand beside Bauba. I want to scream at him, to let him know that he is the reason mama’s life is wasting away. She isn’t a Gyro Cruiser and so could not transcend time and space with her mind. She even overdosed on Flourine once because she was certain she’d be able to time travel and find Bauba. It was pathetic to watch and even more pathetic to be a part of. I walkaway from him and pick up a bottle of Flourine, looking at the blue solution, I make up my mind. I am going back under but this time I am going to find Bauba and kill him.
Obi ụtọ
Dumebi Onwuli
It was 1 a.m. sometime in 1984 and she’d just taken the child. She ran through the back door holding a little girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to her. She patted the girl’s head, wiped her tears, and told her everything would be fine.
In a normal situation, taking a little girl from the only home she’d ever known in the middle of the night would not be easy, but mama was out again. The little girl didn’t mind much anyway, anywhere was better than here.
Adanne put the girl in the passenger seat, reassuring her again that things would get better before jumping into the car herself. Her movements were erratic and she drove like a mad woman to escape the home she ran away from so long ago. She turned left on the highway and accelerated the car till the trees outside the window turned to blurry, shapeless forms.
It was now 6:34 a.m. sometime in January 2017. Adanne opened her eyes and sat up straight. She took a deep breath. Jumping time would never be easy, but it was a risk she had to take if she wanted to be sane again. She looked all around her, thinking how her father’s white Mercedes car had seen better days. Then she remembered the child, “Ada, Ada. Ebee ka ị nọ? Where are you?”, she called out as she patted the chair beside her searching for the little girl.
She heard a whimper from the back seat. She turned and was faced with her younger self- shy, scared, damaged. For so many years, she had toyed with the idea of time travel, most especially after finding her father’s notes. Everybody thought she was a mad woman anyway, intelligent but mad still. She’d saved herself not caring about the repercussions. It seemed like all her life’s work was complete and she could finally retire? Or run away like she did when she was fed up with mama’s abuse? She could do anything right now seeing as she had saved herself from her own terrible future.
She looked at her little self, Ada. Such a beautiful girl. Adanne would be the mother that her mother could not be. Little Adanne would never grow up to be the sad, mad woman living in block A. She wouldn’t be the mad woman without a family, without love, without a past. She wouldn’t be mad. Adanne would raise her “daughter” well and they’d both be happy. Happy together.
She picked the little girl up, placed her in her lap and patted her unkempt hair, whispering “Ndo, kwụsị ịkwa ákwá. O zuola. Stop crying, my daughter”. They would be fine. They’d be happy. Happy together.
This is how it happened
Isu Muhammed
I shook my head. The motion was supposed to clear it, snap me out of my confusion. Papa was settling into one of his stories. They always began this way. I stepped back out the door. The movement was supposed to help me remember. There is a name for this: humans have come so far in study that there is a name for everything. If you can describe it then there is a name for it.
“The doorway effect”
“Sorry?” The voice I heard when I spoke didn’t sound the way I knew my voice to be. It was huskier and deeper.
“It’s called the doorway effect. Not a very creative name I know but that’s what I read on the internet,” Tega said.
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“You just asked me.”
Now we shared the same confusion, me and Tega, the woman I knew to be my wife but didn’t know why I knew this.
“You stepped into the Kitchen then stood there confused and told me you couldn’t remember why you were here.” I looked around and saw that I was in a kitchen. She paused for a second and looked at me the way I looked at strange insects then she spoke again. “Then you asked me what it was called. You look a bit pale. I think you are having one of your episodes, perhaps you should sit down.”
The softness of her finger against my arm felt familiar but I didn’t know why it did. She led me to a chair at the far corner of the kitchen and I sat down. Then we stared at each other before I spoke again.
“Where is papa?” I asked and the way her face squeezed told me what I felt like I already knew. She turned away from me and walked to where the water dispenser was. There she filled a glass with water and offered it to me.
“Which papa?”
“My papa,” I said putting the glass on the counter behind me. She looked at me the way mama looked at me after she beat me for injuring myself while playing, the way she looked at me when her anger had given way for motherly pity.
“Papa is dead.“
The words sounded new and familiar to me at the same time. I knew that I knew this truth but I didn’t know why.
“When?” I asked.
“A long time ago, when you were still a boy” She said.
“How?” I asked.
“He was telling a story when he fell clenching his chest”
I got up suddenly from the chair and ran out of the kitchen. I could hear Tega calling back for me but I did not stop. As I ran, the words did same through my head
“Papa is dead”
I pushed open one door after another till I heard the voice of a man.
“This is how it happened…”
I shook my head. The motion was supposed to clear it, snap me out of my confusion. Papa was settling into one of his stories.
About the authors: Itoro Donald Bassey is a student of the University of Lagos. As hobbies he eats, listens to music, reads, plays basketball and writes for fun. Check out some other stuff he’s written at https://tiddon.wordpress.com/.
Tade Ajiboye is a confused being who writes spontaneously based on the direction of wind at particular moments.
Itasoha Akhibi is 21 years old, a lover of dogs, and science fiction. She’s a photographer, a Christian and a serial napper. She eats sneakers and binge watches Friends for leisure.
Dumebi Onwuli is student at the University of Lagos who enjoys taking long naps, talking to dogs and drinking hot cups of coffee. Dumebi spends a lot of time on the internet and is a self proclaimed hipster with a Tumblr addiction. She writes as a hobby and this short story, Obi Uto, is her first work that has ever been published for public view.
Isu Muhammed is a young writer struggling to convince people to take him as seriously as he takes himself. He is a short story writer and aspiring book author. He spends many hours lost in thoughts he cannot recollect and often finds himself caught between being a writer and a designer. He lives in Lagos Nigeria.
